Best American Poetry 1992

I have a copy of The Best American Poetry 1992. I bought it for $.50 outside a library in Rancho Cucomonga.

It is not that 1992 was an especially auspicious year for American poets, it is just that this book was published in 1992 as a compendium of notable poems that year. I know this, I do, but still I can not help but favor the idea of a vintage for poetry. It is as though the weather that year was unusually favorable for writing poetry. Maybe there were more cloudy days than sunny ones or there was a great deal more rain than normal. There would definitely need to be a surplus of foggy days. Whatever it was people would look back on the poetry of that year and smile.

I like to think this way because that way, when I sit down with the Best American Poetry of 1992, I can imagine tasting the spirit of those times and relish in the products of a good year.

John Adams Carstensen I

My grandfather passed away this week. He was 84 years old and died from a heart attack. He had been in great health and no one was expecting his time to come so soon. We are thankful that the passing was quick and that he was well prepared. Nonetheless, it will be hard not to miss him now that he is gone.

The biggest worry we all have is for my grandmother, Jean. She has dementia and needs to be constantly reminded that her husband is in heaven now. So if you can, pray for her and her four children on whom this task, along with great loss, has befallen.

I don't really know if this is an appropriate forum for such a topic. On one hand his death seems like a very private or personal matter. How does one respect the sanctity of such life? Yesterday his obituary was published in the Stockton paper and the front page was a story about a Stockton girl traveling to the pacific garbage patch. This paper, for me, is all about mourning but there is this girl with the brightest smile aboard a sailing ship. She is reclining with her bare feet propped against a weathered wooden crate.

On the other hand I want to celebrate an inspiring man and take solace in the fact that he will always live in on in us and our memories. I think,

that I can do both.

I don't know.

Grief, it turns out, is a strange process.

Now I Have Nothing to Talk About

Today, I went to the Rancho San Diego Library and, striking out there, I then drove to La Mesa. There I found a charming used bookstore called Maxwell's. The only problem was that the parking out front was metered and I didn't have any change. Driving around the neighborhood I realized that block after block, parking was a privilege reserved for the specie rich. I think a city should warn visitors when there is absolutely no free parking.

I ended up parking across the street, going into a cafe, and buying coffee to break a twenty. All of this, so I could put a dime in the meter, walk across the street, get excited by the window selection, and come to find out that they are closed on Mondays.

I wanted to get my dime's worth of parking so I sat at the cafe and enjoyed my coffee, bitter and bookless.

More than little discouraged I decided to go to a Barnes and Noble down the street. I don't normally like to go to these large commercial retailers. With such an extensive selection there is less of a thrill. Treasure hunters need only a familiarity with the English alphabet. Furthermore, the excitement of the find is immediately curtailed by the price. Seriously, $23 for a paperback? And if the author is deceased who does the money go to? The store gets a cut but does the rest of the profit go to the publisher or the decendents? I just found out Hemingway's granddaughter is a runway model, which means there is a good chance she uses drugs and I don't know if I can support that.

On top of all these disappointing revelations, there is the complexity of their offerings. For instance in Barnes and Noble, "30% off Best-Sellers" is still a rip-off. "Former Best Sellers," I have found, is a good place to start but not quite as good as "Publisher Surplus." The deceptively innocuous table titled "Beach Reading" is anything but and I am always fearful for the future of books on the "Last Chance" cart.

Today my perusal of the "Last Chance" cart was blocked by a three high school kids with bibles. Starbucks is literally taking over the store. I dodged an employee at the ominous Nook display to find, in the "Bargain Priced" section, that Barnes and Noble had "rediscovered" Roland Barthes, tacked on an intro by Susan Sontag, and was having trouble getting rid of the copies at $5.98!

I spent some more time looking around and when I got to the front my total came to $16.35. In my pocket was what was left of my twenty after coffee and parking: one ten, one five, one single, one quarter and one dime.

Part 4: Moving Out

I arrived in Ithaca last Monday and for the most part, cannot distinguish the days between now and then. The lack of a schedule coupled with the construction crew kicking me out of my apartment each morning, meant that I spent my time listlessly checking of to-do items and wandering around to my favorite Ithaca haunts. I even fell into an odd rhythm and as I was in constant search of free wi-fi, I saw my friend Trevor every morning at Starbucks and my friend Nate every afternoon at Collegetown bagels.

Yet, as much as my days blended together there are some especially fond and distinct memories I have of the time:

• wandering all over campus in search of the relocated Cornell Dairy Bar and then napping under a tree on top of the bookstore (the Cornell bookstore is under a grassy hill) after my ice cream
• going with Steve to get pizza-subs from the Shortstop Deli, asking the movie theatre employees to let us in with them, then eating pizza-subs and watching Inception
• sitting in the late afternoon, on the Collegetown Bagels patio at the entrance to Cornell, alternating people-watching and reading
• evicted by the heat, one night I wandered down to the commons where I sat in an air-conditioned sports bar, eating french fries, drinking a beer and reading Anna Karenina
• cashing in TWO full coffee cards
• using Steve's car to run to Five-Guys after having hauled numerous boxes to the Post Office

Overall, the experience was relaxing and rewarding. Being in Ithaca gave me even greater strength in my conviction that I had made the right choice. Furthermore it was perfect summer weather and knowing that my time in Ithaca was coming to a close, the experiences were all that much better.

The last night Steve and I headed up to Trevor's house to hang out at the lakeside (see above). The weather was perfect and we sat talking, eating, and drinking until night came. Trevor and Steve both brought their guitars and I had the grandest time name country songs for Trevor to play. I can safely say that it was the perfect end to an era.

Part 3: Travails

I am already in Ithaca but would like to share briefly the story of how I got here:

To begin with a word of warning: never buy a round-trip plane ticket if there is the possibility of change in your itinerary. I had made travel arrangements to Pittsburgh for a good friend's (Yay Craig) wedding and my efforts to alter the second leg of my trip have been vexing to say the least. When you have to add $150 to the difference in fare prices (exorbitant this close to the travel date), the result is almost always more expensive then another ticket.

Anyways,

about a week ago I made it to Ohio where I spent the days leading up to Craig's wedding reveling in the presence of good friends. We laughed, joked, played sports without incident and, in general, celebrated both our years of friendship and the man that we had come to give away (I'll make up a Facebook album as soon as I get back to California and my camera cord). The wedding took place on Sunday, everything went splendidly, and when a few of us gathered in a bar on Sunday night I couldn't help giving thanks these amazing fellows.

Monday morning was a rude awakening, not because of the extra ordinary events the night before, but because Ryan, Tanner, Evan and I had to wake up at 4:30am and drive to the airport. We had finished our last beers and polished off the french fries only a few hours earlier.

After saying goodbye to Ryan and sharing a last meal (McDonalds) with Evan and Tanner I began my trek to Ithaca. My first flight deposited me in Philidelphia and by the time I stepped into the terminal, I was a wreck. I was dehydrated, hung over from beer and fast food, and dirty. Moreover, I had reached a point in The Decision that was no longer shielded by other events. So not only was my shirt wrinkled, hair greasy, eyes foggy and face muscles sagging from too much smiling, I didn't know what I was doing with my life, and all of this combined, did not feel good.

I needed a plan and the first and easiest thing to take care: my thirst. I needed some water and I immediately set out to find some when, I had an idea. I needed some expensive water. I needed some water intelligent enough to build wells for children in Africa or at least intelligent enough to put Jennifer Aniston on their label. I needed some water from France or Fiji and the further away the better.

You see, I was moving out of my apartment and out of a stable career track. I no longer had an address or prestigious insitution/occupation to affiliate myself with. I was not even sure I had enough money to get back to California. But no one in the airport knew that. If they saw me, albeit a little scruffy, with a four-dollar water, well they might just assume that I have got things together. And you know what? Their confidence, it would help.

After some searching I found a smootie/breakfast bar that sold glass bottles of Perrier. The guy in front of me ordered a plain bagel but they only carry everything bagels. All or nothing I guess.

I purchased my mineral water and tasted better.

Part 2: Reasonings

"I am not going back to Cornell this fall!"

I have already told this story a dozen times but, with some risk of redundancy, this is how it happened:

Kari and I were sitting on the couch, on our computers and avoiding moving out from under the ceiling fan. I was researching architecture firms in the greater Los Angeles area when, in a surge, all of the doubts and anxiety that I had experienced, with respect to my current pursuits, came back to me. The next two days I spent praying for wisdom, making lists, and in general, quietly freaking out. At the end of all that, I was ready to say it out loud, to vocalize and give life to the conclusion I came to. And let me tell you something, it felt good.

I decided that I was no longer certain architecture possessed what I needed for a satisfying career. That uncertainty gave life to the the certainty that returning to Cornell would be irresponsible and that certainty, gave my life back to me.

This might all come as a shock to you but this is great news and here are some reasons why you should be happy for me:

1. I am really happy. This is the first time in a year that I have not been stressed about the possibility that just maybe, I was not meant to be an architect.
   
2. This was a long time coming. For various reasons when I wrote about my experiences in Ithaca, I suppressed my fears and anxieties about continuing to pursue an M.Arch. However, those fears were ever present and sucking the life out of me.
   
3. I am leaving Cornell not because I failed (I actually did quite well academically) but because, dissatisfied with my education there, I wish to pursue something that will be both more gratifying and more challenging.
4. Kari and I will no longer be a continent apart
5. I am certain I could have succeeded as an architect, but that being said, the field in general does not hold the greatest prospects. Graduating with a M.Arch one has about the same debt as a law student and will work similar amounts (roughly 60hrs/wk) all while earning less than half the salary of a recent law grad.

If you are a little hurt that you are just now finding out about this, don't be. This decision is a little over two weeks old. I am in Ithaca now to settle my accounts and clear out my apartment.

Part 1: New Roads

A week ago I traveled down a stretch highway I had never previously encountered. The Interstate 10 begins in Los Angeles, ends in Florida, and until last week I had never been past the exit for Big Bear.

I was pushed East by my desire to find an affordable pair of slim cut pants. I wanted a large mall that would afford an abundance of options, and a preliminary search of sites in the area revealed a generously proportioned outlet center about thirty miles East. There were enough retailers that I could spend an entire morning leisurely proceeding from one to the next. In each store I could find the slimmest fit, tan slacks (32 32), try them on, apologize to the salesperson that it "Didn't work out," and move on to the next.

The next morning plans set, I woke up early, had some cereal and set off.

Traveling East on the 10 one experiences a certain averaging of the landscape. The desert and the mountains reach a truce and the mean landscape is defined by arid, rolling hills. Then, the further East one presses, the flatter the landscape becomes. I watched San Bernadino perform the world's greatest illusion (making mountains disappear) and thought this shopping sojourn, specifically the feel of my tread on unfamiliar pavement, would make an apt analogy for my life at this moment. However, I am at a point in my life where I am certain about very little and that includes the usefulness of metaphors. Thus I was forced to put the idea aside.

The end of this story is that I found the prefect pair of pants.

The point is that I am not going back to Cornell this fall.


P.S. The pants are from J.Crew. I have never shopped there before and upon discovering the perfect pair of pants, discovered a new favorite store. Who knew?

P.P.S. I know that if you had questions after that story they probably were not about the kind of pants I settled on. Don't worry, answers to those questions, equally valid and important, will come in the next few blog posts.

Mmm.... Coffee Ice Cubes

Things I could not have done if I was working.

Jk.
That is a lie.

Here are some photographs.

~

salk institute (sd).
gazebo remodel.

kellie graduates.

valhalla high.

three and a half years.

old spaghetti.
(byo dressing)

rented space.

rented neighborhood.
(me - park - kari)

Goals

This summer my main goal was to move to Loma Linda and spend time with Kari. Given the expense of this goal and the fact that 8:00AM to 5:00PM, Monday through Friday, Kari would be occupied, I set about goal number two: getting work. So far, I have been very successful in regards to the first and less so in regards to the second. There are a number of stories here but rather than focus on the negative, I am choosing to focus on the other goals I have set for myself as well as new goals I might set.

~

So, just to recap, the breakdown of my summer goals looked something like this:

1. Live in Loma Linda to be with Kari (done)
2. Get a job (not-done)

But because of my failure on account of goal two (Parental Disclaimer: I am still looking for temporary work), I came up with a second list:

1. Live in Loma Linda to be with Kari
2. Get a job
3. In the event that society deems you worthless (failure of goal 2), still have something to walk away with at the end of summer

What I did not significantly account for was that such rejection by society meant a lot of free time, which means a lot of free thinking, which means that goal number three quickly got out of hand with sub-categories, addendums and even amendments. Perhaps I got a little ambitious with the life goals but there were so many things I wanted to try, perfect, learn, or read that it was easy to get carried away.

For instance, one of my goals was to eat well. Under this goal I had to balance the sub-goals of responsibility, frugality, and satisfaction. I also added In Defense of Food by Michael Pollan to my reading goals and contemplated how I might pursue these eating goals in Ithaca.

Later, I had to amend this goal to eat well with an exception for my try-new-things goal, which I pursued at Chick fil-A on Tuesday.

Today I had to amend this goal again. This time it was an exclusion for free food. On Tuesday I found out that it is customer appreciation week at Chick fil-A and today, between 4:00pm and 7:00pm they were giving out free chicken nuggets.

After all, I don't have a job.

As Summer Goes

I feel compelled to offer an explanation for my recent negligence. After all, it has been two whole months since my last post. Even during the craziness of last semester I managed a post a week. What then can account for such infertility? What might illuminate the source of such fruitless ness? What...

am I doing explaining myself? This is my blog! Get off my back! This is my blog you, you fiend, you fictional, completely imaginary audience of mine!

No I am not yelling at you reader, I am venting at my Reader. If you cannot tell the difference, one is capitalized. The two are completely different, like art and Art, architecture and Architecture, apple and Apple. So no I am not venting at you, the actual person reading this but rather the idea of an Audience who, for some reason or another, I feel compelled to justify myself to.

And yes, I am so insecure as to fear the judgment of a nonentity.